


Cutouts

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Artist!Reader, Artists, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 07:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13712961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Can you write something with Richard and an artist reader?'Sure can. ART!





	Cutouts

“Well, this is my apartment,” you say quietly. “I moved here… three years ago, you know…” _Idiot. He doesn’t want your moving history, he’s not your landlord_. The man in the doorway, looking like some kind of sleazy god of… you don’t know. Sex or something, in his leather jacket and sunglasses, smiles at you, and you turn, cheeks flushed, and open the door.

Stepping inside, you click the light on, and look around. Oh thank god, it’s pretty okay - it’s an eclectic mix, the kind of place you’d expect to see in a hipster movie complete with bike on the wall, but that’s mostly because half of your furniture has been donated, borrowed or, in the case of the table, stolen. Just a little. _You_ didn’t steal it. You gesture at the sofa, cheeks flushed, and he sits down, removing his sunglasses.

“It’s cosy,” he says, and you smile at him a little. “It’s very… you, actually, babe.” You look around - what is that supposed to _mean_ \- but you make your way into the little kitchen. The place is open-plan, apart from the bathroom and the bedroom - in some places, that would be an aesthetic godsend, but here all it means is that whoever built this place had little-to-no room and crammed a kitchen in, sticking out into the living room like a sore thumb, and you lean over the counter as if you’re a bartender.

“What’s yours?” you say, winking, and he grins at you.

“You got any whiskey?” he asks, and you nod. “Oh, god, that was a joke, I have to drive home. Uh… a coffee would be nice, please.” You nod, and grab a mug - black, three sugars, you know Rich by now - and as you click the kettle on, he pushes himself to his feet, and begins to wander around, examining your things. You barely even notice, as absorbed as you are in making a drink and trying to surreptitiously tidy your kitchen at the same time, and his voice drifts over to you.

“I like your CD collection. I did not know you were a fan of classic rock.”

“Uh, yeah…”

“ _The Best of Warrant_.” Your jaw clenches a little. “Wow. I didn’t expect this of you…” You turn around, and he grins at you. “Am I banned from anywhere? Because rest assured, I’ll check that out first.”

“I’ve seen your bedroom, so I guess not…”

“My apartment is mostly one room, you can’t really be banned from anywhere or you would have to jump from the bathroom to the front door…”

He continues wandering, and the kettle clicks off - you pour the water, and hear a door go. _Hmm_ … you look around, and your eyes widen. Uh-oh, definitely not in there…

“ _Babe, what I have found?_ ” comes an inquiring voice, and you hurry out, drinks forgotten. He’s found what _was_ a laundry room - it’s technically a storage room now, but what you have stored in there _is_ …

He has something picked up, carefully - more careful than you’d give him credit for - holding it by the edges, and you stop in the doorway.

“Uh… it’s my hobby,” you say, quietly, and he nods.

“This is…” He blinks a few times. “It’s awesome. What is it?”

“It’s barely started, I’ve…” You take the canvas from him carefully and lean it back up against the wall. “I’ve just started sketching it.” He tilts his head, and looks at you - there’s a light in his eyes of genuine interest, and you look down at your feet. “It’s… uh… it’s going to be a ballerina.”

“So you take cut-outs from magazines?” He reaches out, touching the glossy print tacked haphazardly to the middle of the photo, and then stops. “Uh, sorry.” You nod, and he smiles at you, before looking around the rest of the room. “This one is… they are… like, a crazy old lady who collects cats?” You nod. You drew every single part of each cat except for the tails, which came from various big cats you found, and the woman’s hair, which is a picture from a foam party that you _think_ Paris Hilton went to. You can’t remember. But Richard is smiling widely, almost unaware he’s doing so. “And this one?”

“Oh, uh, that’s…” He looks at you, and you know you’ve gone red. “Uh…”

“Is that me?” he asks, and you nod slowly. You had originally planned it as a straight sketch, no cutting and sticking involved, but then you had been reading a _National Geographic_ and one particular photo had captured you, of the rainforest in the morning, pale green peeking through a rainbow sun-shower, and you had had to have it… You tell him as much, and his smile takes on an almost awe-struck tone, so soft and… unlike Richard that your heart flutters seeing it.

“…it’s barely started,” you finish shyly - it is just those striking eyes surrounded by a very, very rough sketch of him, but he smiles.

“When you’ve finished it, I want it.” He looks at it again. “For the sake of my vanity, you know.” He reaches out, and pulls you close, kissing you hard. “My talented little (Y/N).”


End file.
